


Potion Instructor Graves

by Anonymous



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ilvermorny, M/M, Power Play, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 20:51:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11768130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It certainly isn't high art, but my thirst for student/teacher was too great.





	Potion Instructor Graves

“Mr. Barebone, have a seat.” 

On the Sunday before winter break, Credence’s fellow students were tucked away in their respective common rooms of the Ilvermorny castle. The halls had been quiet. The castle’s fireplaces were lit to keep out the mountain winter chill. Credence lingered at the door to the potion instructor’s office. Professor Graves peered over the circular glasses seated low on his nose with a look of concern. Credence thought the expression only served to make him more handsome if possible. 

Credence caught himself and frowned. He tried to keep his attraction in check. He hated looking the part of the moon-eyed, puppy dog fool in front of Professor Graves. Credence attempted to fix his hair. He could feel Graves’ unhappiness creeping into his own gut, up through his fingers.

When Graves finally spoke, his eyes pinned Credence to his seat with their typical intensity. “Did anyone see you come in? Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

“No one, sir.” Credence relaxed somewhat in his seat. He stared down at his school trousers, half an inch too short from his recent growth spurt, before looking back up with color in his cheeks. Desire took hold again his chest. He squirmed with impatience, body still too small to hold the enormity of all that he wanted with Professor Graves.

“Good,” Graves sighed with a heaviness that seemed anything but. “I’ve been meaning to have this conversation with you for some time.” 

“Sir? Have I done something wrong?” 

“I’m doing what’s best for you, Credence. For both of us. I have behaved poorly. This cannot continue. You know that.” 

Credence tried to focus on the silver measuring trinkets clinking softly on the professor’s desk: weights, scales, a wide spoon that changed size. He swallowed to keep down what threatened to overtake him. His throat felt thick and his eyes too heavy.

“No,” he whispered. It sounded small and pathetic even to his own ears. His mind spun trying to think of how this had happened. He had always known there would be obstacles for them. Their entire affair had been almost nothing but obstacles and secrets and awful lies. Except Credence wanted still. He pressed his lips together, wet from crying, and tried to keep back any sound. He wanted skin. He wanted to taste him one last time. Credence wanted to be angry or distant, but his body wouldn’t allow it. All Credence could feel was self-hatred for being foolish enough to think Professor Graves wanted to keep him. 

“A young man your age should be going steady with pretty witches in your own year.” Graves couldn’t seem to look him in the eye, instead adjusting his cufflink. 

“I can’t. Please,” Credence hiccuped. He curled his hand over his mouth as soon as the words left his mouth. Even in front of a Graves - the man who had taken him, bedded him - Credence’s shame won out. He had vowed to never let on how much of an invert he actually was; that he was beyond curing, that he’d only ever wanted a man.

Professor Graves’ face fell. For a moment he looked as heartbroken as Credence felt. It gave Credence comfort the way Ma’s beatings ripped his mind away from the pains of an empty stomach. “We can talk another day. You should get some rest. Please Credence, do this for me.”

Credence stood and wiped his nose on his sleeve. Graves’ hand automatically went to his back. Credence needed to remove himself. Graves’ body heat receded as he moved to allow Credence space. Only the snap of the fire was left to fill the silence. 

Credence breathed through quick strides back to the Wampus dormitories. The winds off of Mount Greylock seemed to echo against the stone, suddenly too loud. Outside the dormitory, the jaws of the giant Wampus opened without challenge for him to enter. Any other day, the students would be required to perform the usual reflex challenge of pointing one’s wand when its amber eyes turned green. Credence tried to muster gratitude for the stone guardian without success. He ignored the other students gathered around in groups and took to bed despite the January sun shining through the windows.

___

It had been three weeks. The school had just returned from their winter break, and the seventh years didn’t have potions until that Friday. Credence had been sick in the toilet twice that morning. He clung to his books as he ascended the spiral stairs; First People’s Rune Reading II, Beyond Four: Alchemy in America, and the Advanced Art of Potion-Making. 

The potions volume still contained Credence’s enamored quill scribblings in the margins. He’d made them when he’d first begun Professor Graves’ class. They were tracings of his professor’s initials and silly symbols of his imagination; tiny yearnings tucked under the prescribed number of Billywig stings for a wideye brew. He dug his fingernails into the soft leather binding as he approached the classroom. The sound of Professor Graves’ voice stopped him cold. He wanted to run but stood rooted at the entrance.

He’d have remained there if it weren’t for the tide of students, alternately shoving and moving him aside. Credence allowed himself to be taken with the flow. Inside the classroom, the floor to ceiling windows were lined with plants; soft greens and mysterious purples. Some spiked and some twisting. The remainder of the potion ingredients were jarred up and kept on shelves. A select few were locked up in a great cabinet behind Graves’ desk. 

Credence rushed for the back of the room towards his desk. He’d been paired with a young wizard from Michigan, a half-Native American and half-Dutch pure blooded wizard. Kennet had strikingly pale eyes and quick reflexes. Credence attributed the latter to Kennet’s fondness for lacrosse, of which Kennet often tried to explain to Credence. Kennet had developed somewhat of a habit of vying for Credence’s attention during lessons.

Today, Credence hunched over the table, body rigid with tension. When Professor Graves called order, Credence couldn’t help but look up. He wore his glasses and a new waistcoat that pulled in all the right places. Credence was transfixed. Graves informed the class that they would be reviewing anti-paralysis potions. He made a point to remind them of the practical applications. Their professor never missed an opportunity to remind them of what life threatening situations they could one day find themselves in.

Kennet volunteered to collect their ingredients. At the same time, Professor Graves walked down the rows of tables to check on everyone’s cauldrons. He brushed by Credence as if he wasn’t there and stopped to inquire about Phyllis Carmichael and Eden LaMotte’s moldy burdock root. Kennet returned and cast a hopeful smile as he arranged the ingredients in front of them. The two began to divide them according to the order in which they’d be needed. 

Credence had a reputation for being bookish, but he had a special proficiency at potion-making as of late. It even looked as if Wampus was set to win Excellence in Potions Cup this year. Today, Credence could hardly take his eyes off of Graves’ back long enough to prepare the roots. Kennet cracked a joke. When Credence didn’t respond, he stopped mid-slice.

“You ok?” Kennet set down his wand, “You can tell me, ya know, if something’s wrong.”

Credence looked up to see Kennet staring with an almost comically serious expression. “I’m fine. I just had a busy break is all.”

Eden caught his attention before he could try and elaborate. Credence paused to listen as she addressed Graves a little too loudly. “Did you spend winter break with your sweetheart, Professor Graves?” Their cauldron bubbled uneasily as Phyllis elbowed her in the side with a whisper to shut her trap. The rest of the class had already heard though. Credence’s stomach dropped as images of his replacement bombarded him. He wished he could disappear, far, far away from Mount Greylock.

“Ms. LaMotte, I’d advise you to focus on the task at hand.” Professor Graves replied, smooth as ever. “This will be on the exam.” Graves snapped his fingers. The fire under Eden’s cauldron fell to a reasonable simmer without him having spoken a word.

“That isn’t a ‘no’,” Eden whispered to Phyllis once he was out of earshot. “You owe me.”

Credence counted forwards and backwards, and yet the images wouldn’t stop unfolding in his mind of Graves’ holiday without him. Men - older and more established than Credence - offering Mister Graves a drink in their sitting room, no fear of curfews or disguises, no one to answer to. They might even be seen together under the lights of New York City. They would both have money, unlike Credence who only had charity. He would be distinguished and well-dressed, unlike Credence who fumbled over his own too-large feet. They had probably laughed about the pitiful student who had become too attached.

Just as Kennet paused in the instructions, a bright shattering noise cut through the din. Everyone turned to look at the broken jar glittering on Professor Graves’ desk that had once contained a gallon of ox blood, now dripping through the cracks. Credence knew it was his fault in one horrifying instant. He still lacked control. Mister Graves had told him he had a great deal of power inside of him which might prove a challenge to master. He cursed ever having learned he was a wizard.

“Mr. Barebone. After class.” 

___

 

Graves’ quarters were situated at to the South near the Wampus dormitories. The other houses followed suit: Horned Serpent crowned the Northern tip, Pukwudgie faced the East and Thunderbird stretched to the West. Credence kneaded his lip outside his professor’s door, staring at the metal archway that suddenly seemed menacing.

As Head of House, the discipline of the Wampus students often fell to Professor Graves. He had spoken to Credence after the other students left while attending to a chilling spell on one of his shelves. Graves murmured an order. Credence was to come immediately from dinner. No dessert, no idle chatter, and no dallying in the washroom. Graves continued his work without any sign that his intentions were less than professional. 

Credence lifted his fist to knock on the door. The door swung open on its own to reveal Graves’ unbuttoned and pacing. Credence inhaled sharply when the door shut behind him. Already he could feel the tension, from the yearning in his gut to the tense curve of Graves shoulders. Graves turned to Credence with a sigh. He was dressed down to his shirt and trousers with a smudge of ink on the outer edge of his palm and an overabundance of parchment in front of him. Graves surveyed his student standing in the middle of the room. Credence thought - unbidden - of the first time Mister Graves had taken him in a faculty-only parlor. Credence could almost smell their sweat on the leather as Graves had pushed inside of him, muffling the boy’s noises with his hand on Credence’s mouth.

“Since you insist on acting like a child,” Graves began to walk towards him, “I’ll have to discipline you like one.” 

“Sir?” Credence swallowed.

“Stand beside the bed.” He motioned with his head to the spot. Credence positioned himself close to one side. He tried to steady his breathing to no avail. Graves followed, pausing behind Credence so that his breath warmed Credence’s neck, sliding the boy’s robe off to fall to the floor. He then sat in front of Credence on the bed and motioned him forward. 

“Pull down your pants,” Graves’ own breathing seemed to have gone shallow as Credence situated himself between the v of Graves’ legs. “I’m going to spank you ten times. Understood, Mr. Barebone?” Credence nodded. It was an effort not to shiver with happiness as the air cooled his bare skin. Credence wanted to beg and degrade himself. He wanted to kiss and rub his body into Graves’ thick arms and chest. 

He moaned when Graves’ finally struck his ass cheek. Skin on skin. Credence continued to make small, stifled noises as each smack imbalanced him so that he swayed into Graves. The tenth strike fell but Graves kept his hand in place. Credence could see the older man had closed his eyes. He brought both hands up with a growl and kneaded Credence’s cheeks, until the boy whimpered. The head of Credence’s cock brushed the inseam of Graves’ leg. Credence’s mouth hung open shamelessly, eyes hooded. His hands scrambled against Graves’ covered shoulders. His skin stung with the absence of Graves’ hands. “Please,” he sobbed into the silence.

After another second, the older man swore. Graves took a handful of each cheek and Credence was pulled forward. Graves’ gaze went to where the head of Credence’s cock nudged out from under his uniform shirt. “Mercy Lewis, look at you.” Graves said in a voice Credence almost didn’t recognize. Graves spanked him again without warning, harder this time. His hands traveled to Credence’s thin waist to pull them flush together. Credence gasped, moisture forming at the corner of his eyes. 

“My boy needs discipline.” Graves’ hands slid upward to push away Credence’s shirt. He dragged his lips across one pert, tiny nipple. “Isn’t that right?” He looked up.

“Yes,” Credence rasped. “Yes, sir.” He babbled. Graves captured Credence’s mouth in a kiss, hands clutching, seemingly encouraging his small thrusts. He began to undo Credence’s school tie before working at his buttons. Credence leaned closer to further ease Graves’ wet mouth traveling over his chest like a starved man over a cleaned plate. The hot breath from his nose and lips was laboured against his skin. As soon as Graves own shirt was gone, Credence ran his hands over Graves’ chest and pecs, needing to feel his skin and chest hair; the shape of his muscles. He couldn’t help taking another kiss, even though sir hadn’t asked or given permission. 

Suddenly the smooth, luxurious head of Graves’ cock prodded at Credence’s entrance, causing him to gasp. After a small scramble onto the bed, he was roughly pulled into Graves’ lap. One of the older man’s hands gripped Credence’s hip while the other guided his cock. Credence groaned and tried to catch the head before Graves had even murmured a lubricating spell. A sharp tug on his hair broke him out of his haze.

“Three weeks without my cock and you’ve come undone.” Graves said in a mock chiding tone. “Did you ask permission?” He asked before rubbing his precum between Credence’s cheeks for good measure. The boy responded just as he’d hoped. His beautiful features twisted in want and awe.

“Please, sir, can I have your cock,” Credence whined.

“That’s better.” Graves felt for the tiny pucker and began to insert himself. Credence howled when Graves breached him even as he lowered himself further. The hanging instruments and decoration above them stirred, chiming even though no breeze had entered the room. Credence’s own mind blanked at the fullness of having Graves inside him after weeks without. The boy stared down at him with wide eyes, brimming with gratitude. At last, Credence was seated against fully onto his cock, pressed into Graves’ pubic hair. Just a handful of months ago, Credence had been a virgin and now he took Graves’ cock with reckless abandon.

Credence titled forward, long fingers spread out over the skin covering Graves’ hip bone for balance as his professor thrust his hips. Credence felt fear creeping back up his throat at the thought of how close he was to losing this. He lifted himself until only the head of Graves’ cock was inside him before slamming back down. Credence no longer held back his noises, begging and keeping up the ruthless pace, desperate to have as much of Mister Graves as he could before it was taken away. He rolled his hips and arched his back to better feel every inch of the other man. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to last much longer,” Graves snapped his hips to meet Credence’s needy motions. “Do you want my cum inside you?”

“Please. Please come inside me, sir.” Credence panted as Graves toyed with his own hard cock. Credence’s orgasm wasn’t far off. He felt that heady tightness he’d come to recognize, more eager for Graves’ release than his own. He’s missed this so badly, the feeling of his professor’s come shooting up into him, the closeness, the scent of him, the largeness of his mouth over Credence’s own. Graves sat up properly to bounce Credence in his lap, with both arms wrapped around him. His own voice rose in pitch as he called Credence his sweet boy, his only one, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Credence’s head rolled back as his thrust a final time into his body. He came against Graves’ chest, clutching his hair and begging for each pump of come that Graves could give. Graves held onto Credence’s ass and groaned so loudly that it seemed to echo off of the stone walls. 

Slowly, their motions began to lose their urgency. Graves pressed his forehead to Credence’s, sticky with sweat in the firelit room. Their lips met in a possessive clash. They kissed and kissed with Graves still inside of Credence until Graves couldn’t take it. He lowered Credence onto the bed as semen dripped out onto the blanket. Suddenly and without warning, Credence felt as if he might cry. Graves took his face in his hands without question, muttering apologies. They stayed that way until the hand representing the Wampus house struck curfew, cuing the three notes of a hagpipe to alert them. 

Graves shifted uncomfortably. “I hadn’t realized the time. If your housemates or the Wampus ask, you can tell them I supervised your cleaning cauldrons.”

“Yes, sir.” Credence began to slip out of bed and dress. He felt Graves watching his movements. Credence summoned the courage to speak, his back to his professor. “Will I see you again?” He asked the doorknob. Graves understood his meaning.

“I suppose I could convince another pukwudgie to start another false project for you in the cellars,” Graves ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Greentoe does owe me after I discovered that over-regulation sized vat of Bundimun ooze.” 

The tension in Credence’s body faded away. “You won’t regret it, sir.” Credence had made to leave when Graves caught him and pressed him back against the wall with a maddening kiss. His naked body held Credence in place. 

“We may very well be the ruin of each other, my boy,” Graves breathed against the boy’s skin before releasing him. Both prayed no one would question the besotted or well-fucked look on Credence's face.


End file.
